


Waterbound

by Shiori07



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Magic, Marine Keith, Nereid Lance, Slow Burn, The Royal Navy, Trans Pidge | Katie Holt, War, klance, quest/adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiori07/pseuds/Shiori07
Summary: Excerpt (Chapter 1):"The day Keith drowned was the day everything changed. He didn’t just die, he was tossed headfirst into the drink—plunged into nothing, thinking he knew who and what and why and finding out he was chained inside a box he may have thrown away the key to himself. Everything he had ever known or been told was shattered into fiction, battered against the waves with the coming tide and left for dead. It had been a crude awakening, one that left Keith spluttering, hacking water from his lungs and gasping for air, one that he was still debating whether or not was truly worth it. They say knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss. Keith had to agree with both."Keith has always loved the ocean—enough to enlist in the Royal Navy despite his better judgement. In the end, becoming a marine was one of the best decisions of his life. At least, he thought so. Until the ocean killed him. In a turn of events, his life is bound to a new fate and a Nereid who goes by the human name Lance. He's introduced to a war he didn't know existed and discovers that his home, practically everything he thought he knew, wasn't what he had been led to believe.





	Waterbound

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my contribution to MerMay even though no one in this story is a mermaid. I just really wanted to write this fantasy/adventure and thought I might as well. Giving a disclaimer, this story is loosely inspired by "Watercast" by fishwrites, so if you see parallels, that's why.

The day Keith drowned was the day everything changed. He didn’t just die, he was tossed headfirst into the drink—plunged into nothing, thinking he knew who and what and why and finding out he was chained inside a box he may have thrown away the key to himself. Everything he had ever known or been told was shattered into fiction, battered against the waves with the coming tide and left for dead. It had been a crude awakening, one that left Keith spluttering, hacking water from his lungs and gasping for air, one that he was still debating whether or not was truly worth it. They say knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss. Keith had to agree with both.

The day started in bliss. Keith stared out over the ocean, watching the waves roll gently toward the horizon. Crisp air blew past, tasting of salt and the breath of the sea. It beat gently against the SS Kerberos, causing its sails to billow out with a flutter. Keith could feel it in his hair, and he smiled faintly, staring out over the dark water and the faint orange glow in the distance. He leaned onto the edge of the crow’s nest, arms crossed over the worn wood.

It had been about a year since he had signed on as part of the crew of the SS Kerberos. It was a military vessel, and while he hadn’t exactly been excited for the military part, it had still been one of the best decisions of his life. Every day was spent on the sea, rolling with the waves in a fresh spray of saltwater, and that was all Keith could really ask for. He had found family here too, and that was beyond anything he could have hoped for.

Slowly, the sunrise turned from red to orange, painting the sky and the sea below a myriad of pastels, brushing the ship a light gold. Keith had to admit life wasn’t that bad.

On the deck below, a small flash of movement caught Keith’s eye. He glanced down and wasn’t entirely surprised to see Shiro walking out towards the bow. He stopped just short of the head of the ship, staring over the railing at the sea and the light rising over it. His figure stood straight, hands on hips, and for a moment he seemed to bask in the sight, letting it soak into his skin. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he finally turned around, glancing up at the top of the main mast to where Keith stood watch. He smiled, lifting a hand in greeting, and Keith gave a casual, two-fingered salute in return. He could sense Shiro roll his eyes as he beckoned him down, and Keith couldn’t help the smirk that played on his lips as he hopped out onto the rigging.

When he stepped off the ropes onto the main deck, Shiro was there to greet him with his usual smile.

“Good morning, lieutenant. Any news to report from the nightshift?”

“All clear, lieutenant _._ It was quiet all night, sir.”

Shiro sighed. “Good. Though I could do without the sarcasm.”

“What sarcasm? I’m addressing you as my superior.”

“You’re lucky this crew isn’t strict on hierarchy or else you would be thrown in the brig.”

“Shiro? Actually threatening me? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”

“You think you’re so funny.”

“No, I’m genuinely asking, what did you do to him?”

Shiro rolled his eyes again, and Keith felt his lips twitch up.

“Come on, _lieutenant,_ ” Shiro continued, hand patting Keith’s shoulder as he walked by. “It’s time to wake the crew for the dayshift.”

Keith turned, smiling slightly. Life really wasn’t that bad. “Aye, sir.”

*             *             *             *             *

If there was anything Keith could say he hated about being in the navy, it was that they had to put him in charge of people. Speaking honestly, he preferred to work alone and prided himself in his ability to do so. It was just faster. And cleaner. He could act and not have to worry about other people.

But also, he _really liked_ being in charge of people. He could yell and spar the crap out of them with no consequences.

“Please watch the table,” Matt huffed tiredly, running a hand through his messy, auburn hair. He didn’t look up from his work, eyes squinted as he stared intensely at the map and compass spread out in front of him, pencil point tapping incessantly.

A sword thunked heavily into the wooden railing by Keith’s shoulder, and the barest of smirks drew at his lips as he spun. He twisted away from the blade, bringing his foot up to place a solid kick right above the hilt opposite him. There was a pained grunt, and the man serving as Keith’s opponent stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet.

With a confident advance, Keith pressed the dull side of his cutlass against the man’s throat, ending the match.

“Definitely an improvement, Rogers,” he said, only mildly panting through his words. “Remember to either stick closer to your opponent or keep your distance if you lose your weapon. That way you won’t get run through.”

The man swallowed and nodded, breaths coming faster in comparison. “Aye, sir.”

Satisfied, Keith withdrew his blade, allowing his subordinate to retrieve his weapon from being lodged in the ship’s framework. It was almost funny how much more skilled Keith was in comparison to him—which wasn’t necessarily Keith _bragging_ as it was literally in his job description. His official title was Captain of the Marines, which basically meant he was head of security and in charge of the Royal Marines squadron aboard the SS Kerberos. It was hard to wrap his head around being so highly ranked aboard a Royal Navy vessel at twenty, but according to his paperwork, he had earned it.

As Rogers audibly struggled with his weapon, Keith turned to Matt, eyebrow raised slightly. “You really think I don’t have enough control to avoid a table?”

For a brief second, Matt glanced up from his map, eyebrow twitching. “You knocked it over last week and broke my compass.”

"You had another one.”

“Doesn’t mean I appreciate you breaking the first one any more.”

“Honest mistake?”

Matt was looking back down again, but Keith could see him roll his eyes and try to hide his smile. It was good enough.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Aye, sir,” Rogers saluted as soon as he pulled his sword out, then turned and headed down the stairs to the main deck and out of sight.

Keith put away his own sword, sliding it neatly into the sheath at his waist as he stepped up to the table. It was about midday now, the sun bearing over them, heavy with heat. But Keith was far used to it, the feeling of beads of sweat cooling on his skin from the wind a more than familiar feeling.

“We’re a little off,” Matt murmured to himself, frowning slightly as he took a straightedge and made a sharp line across the map. “Helmsman, adjust our course five degrees north.”

“Aye, sir.”

Slightly curious, Keith leaned his elbows just at the edge of the table, eyes scanning the large paper spread in front of him and only understanding about half of it. He could handle geography, but navigation was something he had only been able to grasp the basics of.

Footsteps came from the stairs to the right, and soon enough, Keith could see spiky black hair appear over the railing.

“Captain on deck.”

Keith, Matt, and the helmsman immediately stood at attention, Keith with his hands clasped behind his back and the others saluting with their fingers on their brows. Sure enough, Shiro appeared by the helm, but not before Captain Holt.

“At ease,” the older man said, smiling good-naturedly through his graying beard. He stepped up to the table, opposite Matt, Shiro standing at his shoulder. “Report on our position, Sailing Master?”

“Sir,” Matt nodded, smiling like he had said something funny, and pointed his pencil at the recent line he had made. “We’re definitely on course, but being this far out of familiar territory makes navigation difficult, especially since we know our maps aren’t entirely accurate and our instruments are sensitive to energy from unrefined Balmeran crystal.”

“But you _can_ navigate, can’t you?”

“Oh I _can,_ Lieutenant,” Matt affirmed, smirking back at Shiro across the table. “We know the general location of the crystals from our intel, and I could map out an approximate course from port. I can tell I was, _of course,_ very accurate in my calculations because my compass is currently spinning on its own. But you’re all very lucky I know how to use a sextant and that the sun consistently rises in the east.”

“Well done, Matthew,” Captain Holt praised, smiling at his son. “How long before we reach our target?”

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple days. Although something does concern me.” Walking to another side of the table, Matt took his pencil, tracing a curving line in the middle of the ocean a few inches away from his most recent trajectory. “We’re drawing a bit close to Galra territory, which ends about twenty leagues off their coast because of the recent treaty.”

Captain Holt looked over the lines carefully, eyes clear as he studied them like a battle plan. “We should be able to avoid any confrontation as long as we stay out of their line of sight. Your trajectory should accomplish that, yes?”

Matt gave a firm nod. “That’s assuming we have smooth sailing from here. But I’m guessing you know that there’s a storm rolling in. It’ll be more difficult to navigate with too much wind and cloud cover.”

“The skies are clear.” Keith couldn’t help cutting in, eyes cast dubiously upward. “How can you tell?”

“You’ve only been out at sea on and off for a year,” Shiro answered with a slight smile. “When you get as much experience as us old timers, you’ll start to see it.”

Matt scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I’m vibrantly youthful and I still know what I’m talking about.”

“We’re the same age.”

“The storm will have to be something we handle as it comes.” Captain Holt prodded the conversation back to business, though the crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes gave away his amusement. “Stay the course. We’ll keep the crew alert in the event things escalate. And I give permission for you to make alterations to our trajectory should our Galra situation change. Have the crew been properly briefed in mining raw Balmeran crystals?”

The Captain then turned to Shiro, who nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“And are our marines trained for any Galra hostility we may come across?”

“Trained and ready, sir.” Keith made sure to stand straight when he said that.

“Very good.” The Captain gave him an appreciative nod, then looked to the three in turn. “I’m very proud and relieved to have you boys in my command for my final mission as captain. It leaves me at ease knowing I’m leaving my ship in good hands.”

“Aw, dad, don’t get sentimental,” Matt muttered, though he was looking to the horizon with a suspicious sniff.

Captain Holt chuckled. “I’m getting old, I think it’s perfect timing for a promotion to admiral.” With a turn on his heel, he headed back down towards the main deck. “Keep up the good work.”

The remaining officers watched him leave, listening to his boots thud on wood, before turning to look at each other, any trace of formality dropping from their posture.

“You hear that? That means you can’t mess things up.”

“You can’t either,” Keith answered pointedly.

“Matthew Holt, I’m feeling personally attacked.”

Matt gave them a sly grin. “I’m just saying. Stay strong out there, guys.”

“This is a routine mission,” Shiro answered, hands splayed flat over the map. “While it’s a bit out of the way of the military’s usual route to mine Balmeran crystal, it’s the same as any retrieval mission. We’ve all been trained in this before and we can definitely pull it off without a hitch.”

“You’re already starting to sound like captain,” Keith replied, arms crossed, though he was smirking slightly.

Shiro shrugged. “I’m Captain Holt’s second-in-command. I kind of have to, especially since he’s being promoted. I have to help the next captain lead the crew.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t seriously think anyone else could _hope_ to be captain.” Matt walked to stand by Shiro, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Dad more than appreciates how dedicated you are to the Kerberos and her crew. You know he wouldn’t want to leave her to anyone else.”

Shiro’s lips pressed into a line. “That doesn’t automatically mean I’ll be assigned Captain of the Kerberos.”

“It means you’re a shoe-in.” Matt gave Shiro a few more pats, hand resting on his shoulder for a bit before he went back to his original position. “Now, no offense, but you guys should leave so I can make sure we don’t get lost at sea.”

Keith nodded. “We’ll leave you to your work then, Lieutenant Holt.”

“I appreciate it, Lieutenant Kogane.”

Shiro sighs. “It’s obvious neither of you take rank very seriously so I don’t understand why you bother. Anyway, the three of us are technically equals.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant Shirogane. We’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

Shiro sent Matt a glare, though his eyes lacked the stern, steely quality they got when he was truly angry. Matt smiled innocently, tapping his pencil languidly on the table. Keith stood outside their little staring contest, biting his lip and not laughing.

“Well, we’ll leave you to your work, _Sailing Master Holt._ In the meantime, we should get back to our respective duties _Captain Kogane of the Royal Marines.”_

Keith made a face, nose scrunching slightly. Matt stared, deadpan. “Too far, Shiro.”

Shiro returned the look with a pleasant smile before turning and gesturing for Keith to follow. Keith sent Matt a shrug, amused and without anything further to say, before leaving their navigator to his maps.

*             *             *             *             *

Keith spent the next few hours making his usual rounds, making sure none of the other crew members were killing each other and that nothing was stolen—like rations from the kitchen and so on. He had already spent his morning drilling his squad, refining them for the combat they may or may not have to engage in. Throughout the year Keith had been on the Kerberos, he’d only had to deploy his marines a handful of times either to arrest traitors of the Arusian crown or apprehend stowaways aboard the ship. There were, of course, the times he had to assemble teams to accompany the Captain and/or Shiro on land to carry out whatever mission they were on, but overall, his job wasn’t that hard. Sure, there were mission reports along with a weekly report of security on the Kerberos that he had to fill out and found painfully annoying, but those things never outweighed the fact that he was paid to beat people up. And of course, the job left him plenty of free time.

Once he had finished inspecting the brig to make sure it was up to code and capable of securely holding a prisoner, Keith made his way back up to the main deck. It was early evening by now, the sun beginning to sink toward the western horizon and tainting everything a soft gold. A particularly strong breeze blew from the bow, whipping through Keith’s hair and bringing that intense smell of brine. Walking along the length of the ship, he looked toward the horizon and the direction the wind was rushing away from. Matt had definitely been right about his weather prediction—gray clouds were rolling in from the west, giving the sky a bleak overcast feel where the golden evening couldn’t seep through. A chill had settled over the air as well, making Keith regret leaving his coat in his quarters, but it wasn’t cold enough to bother him so long as he didn’t think about it.

Reaching the bow, Keith took a moment to glance over the railing at the rolling waves lapping at the sides of the ship. Then, he hopped almost silently onto the pulpit, perching with one foot resting on the bowsprit, the other dangling into nothing. Reaching his hand into a pouch at his hip, he pulled out a green apple, the remains of his lunch from that day, and began to peel the skin off with a knife. With each green sliver he removed, he tossed it into the ocean, listening for a splash but unsurprised when he didn’t hear one.

As he cut a slice of his apple, stabbing it with the point of his knife to put in his mouth, he was reminded of sitting on the cliffs with his dad when he was little. They had lived right on the coast, their wooden house virtually sitting on the beach below. When it was a good day, his dad would take the two of them up the cliffs for a picnic. Keith was young then and easily entertained, and so when they had eaten their food and left behind apple cores or orange skins, they would play a game of who could throw it farthest into the ocean. Despite being only four, Keith had been so sure that he had won every time—though, now that he was older, he more than suspected that his dad had let him win.

The memory made Keith smile. He had always loved the ocean, feeling sand under his feet as he went shell hunting. The water had always called to him, like a lullaby with a tune that never ended.

Someone nudged Keith’s elbow, and he turned to see Shiro leaning over the railing beside him, raising an eyebrow and giving him a slight smile. “What are you thinking about that’s making you smile like that?”

Keith shrugged, cutting another slice of his apple as he turned to stare out over the water again. “Just reminiscing… Remember when you came to visit and we tried teaching ourselves how to surf?”

Shiro chuckled. “If I remember that correctly, _you_ were the one trying to learn how to surf and I was just sitting on the beach watching you wipe out a hundred times.”

“I still blame you for breaking my board in half.”

“I was not the one who crashed it into the rocks, thank you.”

Keith felt himself grimace. “That hurt.”

“You were lucky you only scraped up your leg.”

“But let’s not forget the time _you_ wanted to try sailing in my dad’s boat and we were stranded in the bay for a whole day. I thought we were going to starve to death.”

Shiro sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. Not my proudest moment.”

Keith snickered around an apple slice, carefully carving out another one to offer his cousin. “ _You’re_ lucky we hadn’t passed the sandbar, otherwise we wouldn’t have washed back on shore.”

“But we were ten miles _up shore_ from your house.”

That made Keith laugh out loud. “Yeah. Dad was actually pretty mad at us. He hated having the two of us together.”

A small pause came between them then. Keith’s head never turned in Shiro’s direction. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the horizon, watching as the clouds slowly rolled in like a hand offering to take his own, asking him forward.

“I almost wish we could go back.”

A large hand came to rest firmly on his shoulder, warm and gentle as the thumb brushed at his joint. Shiro didn’t say anything. Neither of them needed to.

Keith did his best to ignore the warm prick behind his eyes.

“You should get some rest. Matt was right about the storm and you’ve been up since early this morning. I’ll wake you if things start to get dicey.”

Finishing off his last slice, Keith sheathed his knife and tossed his apple core overboard, hearing a small splash as he hopped down from the pulpit. “Thanks, Shiro. Leave some of the fun for me.”

As he was about to walk away, Shiro’s hand reached for his arm again, holding him in place. Keith looked up to see his cousin give a small smile, one that Keith returned before walking toward the stern and down into the quarter deck.

There weren’t many of the other crew members down there at that time of day, leaving the barracks dark and quiet. Keith made his way toward the back, heading for the familiar alcove he had claimed as his own.

Like all the others’, Keith’s quarters consisted of a hammock and a bag full of his meager possessions— which for him was mostly a few extra clothes, a canteen, his captain’s journal, and whatever weapons he had. His space wasn’t as customized as some of his colleagues’, but it was his and that’s all he really wanted.

Kicking off his boots and removing his belt, Keith climbed into bed, settling into the dip of the fabric easily. For a moment, he laid there in silence, dark eyes staring up at the wooden ceiling above.

Thinking about his dad always made him feel nostalgic, bringing up old memories about innocence and childhood. Usually, Keith welcomed those memories as he had nothing to remember his father by. But right now, he pushed them away, rolling over and wishing he would fall asleep soon.

Luckily for him, it did. Thanks to the early shift he had taken that morning, sleep was merciful, swiftly taking Keith into blissful unconscious.

*             *             *             *             *

Shiro ended up not needing to wake Keith for the storm. The storm did it for him.

Keith woke to a deafening clap of thunder and his hammock almost slamming him bodily onto the floor. He jolted into consciousness, heart lurching to his throat as he tumbled out of bed, landing hard on one knee to crouch sloppily in a defensive position. He had instinctively grabbed for his sword, wrenching the weapon full out of its scabbard to brandish it into dark nothingness. It was virtually pitch black in the cabin, leaving nothing to help Keith gain his bearings.

Then, the ship shook with another _boom_ , lightning flashing white through the porthole to his left. Shouts came through the floorboards above, the captain’s voice faint yet easily recognizable even over the cacophony of the waves beating against the hull, the Kerberos itself creaking as wind howled passed.

Keith scrabbled for his boots and shoved his feet into them, slamming his elbow painfully into the column behind him as he did so. But he barely registered the flare of heat racing up his arm as he ran for the upper deck, belt far from properly being buckled around his waist.

_“TIE EVERYTHING DOWN! CANONS TAKE PRIORITY! SAVE WHATEVER YOU CAN!”_

Keith could hear Captain Holt shouting his orders from the quarter deck, but barely paid him any attention as his eyes locked on two figures wrestling with a runaway canon. He rushed over to them, launching himself to catch the base of the thousand-pound artillery. The hunk of iron landed heavily in Keith’s hands, making him grunt with the effort of keeping the weight off his chest.

“Keith, thank the gods!” Matt exclaimed, voice tight with strain as he pushed his side of the canon. “About time! I mean I knew you could sleep through anything, but this is a little ridiculous.”

“Is now really the time to be cracking jokes?” Shiro was bracing the other side with his shoulder to keep some of the weight on himself, something Keith greatly appreciated.

“It’s always a good time to crack jokes, Shiro. I have no idea why you’re being so uptight right now.”

Together, the three of them hauled the canon back towards the railing, Matt pulling to guide it into place while Keith and Shiro kept it from crashing into anyone. As soon as the iron struck wood, Matt slipped some rope from his shoulder and began tying it down.

“What the hell happened?!” Keith shouted at Shiro, barely hearing himself over the storm. “Why didn’t we tie these down before the storm got this bad?”

“It came up on us really fast!” Shiro yelled back, black hair plastered to his forehead. “The ocean was calm and suddenly we were in the middle of a typhoon! Sorry I couldn’t wake you like I promised!”

Keith felt himself grin. “I came through anyway. Guess that means you owe me one.”

“I’ll buy you a drink next time we’re home, how about that?”

“Done!” Matt declared, tying off the rope with a sharp jerk.

“You better keep your word,” Keith answered as he and Shiro finally let go of the canon.

 _“Kogane!”_ The three lieutenants turned at the sound of Captain Holt’s voice. The old man was hanging onto the helm, leaning heavily to the left to keep the bow against the wind. “Assemble a team and secure the sails before the wind tears them up!”

“Aye, sir!” Keith answered immediately, turning to search for members of his squad among the crew above deck. But before he could rush off, someone grabbed his arm in a tight grip. Keith turned, met with Shiro’s dark eyes staring down at him.

_Be safe._

Keith almost couldn’t hear him, had to read his lips to register the words. But he understood the meaning in Shiro’s face, the way his eyebrows knit together, and Keith nodded before finally taking off.

 _“Rogers!”_ he shouted as soon a he reached the pulpit. “Gather the rest of the squad from below deck. We need to secure the sails. You know the protocol—do _not_ go up there without a safety line! You three, secure the main sail!”

“Aye, sir!”

Keith barely took a moment to watch them run off before he was grabbing some rope from the ground and lashing it to the railing in front of him. To be frank, he _should be_ gathering up more of the crew to carry out his orders, but he felt confident that Rogers would do as he was told and get the job done. Besides, Keith was the most agile of the Royal Marines (and the crew, for that matter). Someone had to climb onto the bowsprit to tie down the jib.

And even though it was absolutely terrifying to climb out over the raging ocean in a storm on a thin wooden pole with nothing but a rope keeping him from falling to a watery death, Keith tied himself to that rope and jumped into the pulpit.

Letting his instincts take over, Keith ran across the pole, untying the nearest sail with quick fingers. Or at least trying his best to untie it. Rain and seawater had soaked into the rope, slicking his grip. It didn’t help that the storm kept everything pitch black when there wasn’t any lightning and Keith was straddling the pole trying not to tumble into the churning sea below. He almost fell off as a particularly strong wave crashed into the hull, and he scrabbled to grab hold of the bowsprit to keep his balance.

His heart hammered in his chest as he hugged the wood, tilting his face up so he could finish untying the knot in front of him. He had just gotten it undone, gripping the rope tight in his hand as he moved to the next one when a bright flash of lightning arced through the sky. A shadow fell over the Kerberos. Keith thought it was a cloud until he looked up.

It was a ship. The thing was bigger than the Kerberos, almost twice as long and needing three masts instead of two. It dwarfed the ship beside it, making it look like a children’s toy in comparison.

Keith didn’t move. He just stared at the hulking ship in shock. He had never seen one like that before, not ever throughout his career with the marines. Granted, he had only been at sea for a year, but _this?_

And then the first figure swung from the ship onto the deck of the Kerberos and he realized:

_We’re being boarded._

Keith hefted himself up onto the bowsprit, pushing to sprint onto the deck to engage these pirates before they caused major damage. But just as his legs had gained the smallest purchase, their ship crashed into the Kerberos. He was sent tumbling into empty air, the bottom of his stomach dropping out as the wooden boards of the hull rushed to meet him. His body reacting on its own, Keith’s arms reached up and snagged the port anchor, wrenching a yell of pain from his throat as the force yanked on his shoulders and the rope pulled tight around his waist.

Of course, this was the perfect time to think about the fact that his safety line had the potential to shatter his spine if he fell just right.

Gritting his teeth, Keith climbed up the iron anchor toward the railing above his head. As soon as he reached the top, he hung by his forearms to evaluate the situation.

With a start, he realized that the invaders were taller than humans, almost by several feet in some cases, and were locking swords with a good third of the Kerberos crew. They were Galran soldiers.

“Someone got lucky, didn’t he?”

And Keith swore, because now he saw the Galra standing not five feet away from him, grinning slyly as his yellow eye- glowed down at him through the rain. A flash of lightning arced overhead, casting a spark of light on the curved blade in the Galra’s hands. Keith barely had time to drop before that sword crashed down into the wood where he had hung.

His hands caught on the anchor three feet below, a sharp grunt biting through his teeth at the impact. Splintered shards of wood rained down from above, and Keith ducked his head to shield his eyes.

 _“Agh!”_ A strangled cry quickly followed, giving just enough time for Keith to see the streak of metal that was the Galra’s sword tumble end over end through the air and into the ocean below. For a second, he thought rather foolishly that the howling wind had been responsible, but that thought was quickly dashed by the voice that followed.

_“Keith!”_

Shiro was leaning over the railing, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide. But a small wave of relief seemed to wash away the panic at the sight of his cousin a few feet below.

“Keith, are you alright?!”

“Yeah! Go!”

Shiro disappeared instantly, leaving Keith to drag himself onto deck a second time. It didn’t take long, and without making a conscious decision, Keith flung himself onto deck, rolling to one knee, and drawing his sword to slice at a Galra’s leg in one motion. The Galra cried out, stumbling to the side and right into Keith’s waiting blade.

Wrenching his sword free, he got to his feet, eyes scanning and locking onto his next target a few feet away. It was the same Galra from earlier, locked in a fierce battle with Shiro. Keith lunged, anger broiling once he saw the red staining all the way down Shiro’s right arm. He was aiming to slash right under the Galra’s ribcage and would have succeeded if it weren’t for the fact that he was still tied to the bow.

The line drew taut behind him, causing Keith to stumble and ungracefully almost impale himself with his own weapon. He cursed through the instantaneous jolts of fear, realization, agitation, and pain, twisting to hack at the rope to cut himself free.

He managed to slice a quarter way through the rope before he heard footsteps pounding toward him from his right. He glanced up in time to catch a Galra charging him with a knife. Keith quickly made to stand up. He could only make it to one knee, and so made do. Twisting to the side, he grabbed the Galra by the wrist and twisted. She stumbled, knife clattering to the floor. She growled, and in the next moment had slammed her knee into Keith’s temple. Lights exploded in front of his eyes, his vision suddenly doubling as he threatened to topple over. He felt someone knock the sword from his hands, and in blind desperation, threw his leg out.

The kick barely connected, but it was enough to knock his assailant to the floor. Seizing his opportunity, Keith scrabbled for a blade, feeling the hilt of a knife and taking it in hand before hurrying to his feet, blinking hard to get his vision to clear. The Galra was getting to her feet again, yellow eyes glaring. Keith braced himself.

She charged again, scooping up Keith’s fallen cutlass and aiming it straight at his chest. Teeth gritting, Keith darted inside her strike, aiming his stolen knife at her stomach. She twisted, resulting in a nick to her side, and Keith rolled. He faintly heard a whistle of air and knew she had tried to swipe at his back, and he turned to swipe at her again. She caught the blade with her own, pushing their weapons to the side and leaving both of them open. Keith anticipated her kick and sidestepped.

It wasn’t enough to dodge, the majority of the impact slamming into his shoulder, but with his free arm, he grabbed her leg and shoved. She fell backward, head slamming hard into the side of a canon, and went still.

Keith snatched his sword from her limp hand and engaged his next enemy.

Impatiently shoving a loop of rope off his shoulder, Keith brought his sword up to block and parry another, knocking it aside and kicking his opponent in the stomach.

The rope had managed to wrap further around his body with the fighting. Keith’s style involved taking advantage of being small and agile, which was normally an advantage, but right now it was threatening to get him killed. If it weren’t for the fact that he glimpsed Shiro still fighting that Galra from earlier, he might have slowed down to take care of it.

The fact that Shiro was bleeding and still fighting the same opponent was alarming. Shiro was no pushover, meaning that whoever this Galra was had to be incredibly skilled. It was worse considering Shiro had been disarmed and was solely relying on hand-to-hand combat.

The two had moved toward the pulpit, making it far easier for Keith to aim for the Galra’s left shoulder blade. He noticed too late that the arm was metal.

His sword glanced off with a sharp ring, throwing Keith off balance with the momentum. He caught himself, turning to face Shiro’s opponent.

He looked vaguely surprised upon seeing Keith, his one eye widening minutely. But then he bared his teeth in a predatory smile, and without warning, raised his arm and knocked Keith aside like he was a fly.

The breath left Keith’s lungs in a rush, and he was sent sprawling to the deck gasping for air, sword loosed from his grip.

 _“Keith!”_ he heard Shiro shout, right before he grunted in pain and there was a harsh _thump_. Keith glanced up quickly, stomach twisting as he saw Shiro stumble away from one of the canons, arms crossed over his middle. He glanced up with a growl before launching himself forward.

Keith forced himself to his hands and knees, gritting his teeth through the searing pain spiking heat through his chest.

He had to get up. He had to help Shiro.

Breathing was like trying to push a two-ton canon. Standing was like losing to the canon and trying to keep it from crushing him. His chest _ached,_ his head throbbed, and his legs felt like they were threatening to disappear. He was pretty sure that something might have broken somewhere. Or several things might have broken in several places. Or maybe he was just delirious because now that he thought about it, his vision wavered like he was looking through old glass when he moved too fast.

Blinking, he could focus on the shape of Shiro wrestling with the larger figure of the Galran soldier. Everything was off balance, the Kerberos rocking violently with the storm and the roiling ocean. It made Keith sway on the spot, but he didn’t care—Shiro _needed him._

And then he noticed the Galran soldier behind Shiro, a knife glinting in her hand.

Keith should have known to kill her earlier.

Without thinking, he charged. She noticed him just before he tackled her, pinning her to the pulpit and pushing both her arms over her head. Her lips curled into a snarl, and she fought against his grip, flipping the knife in her fist so that the blade pointed at him. Stretching his arms up aggravated Keith’s ribs, setting his chest on fire. It didn’t help that his opponent was taller than him and that the Kerberos was threatening to capsize.

Everything hurt. Everything was hurting and Keith just wanted it to be _over._ And from the look of it, it would be, just not in his favor. He could feel this Galra soldier overpowering him, and he had to think of something or else both his and Shiro’s bodies would be sent to rest at the bottom of the ocean.

Then the bow of the Kerberos broke through a wave, splashing the pulpit full of water and jolting sharply upward.

Keith fell hard against the railing, losing his grip.

The knife stabbed into him the split second he realized what would happen.

Pain sliced through his shoulder, hot and piercing as it unmistakably hit bone. Blood gushed from the hilt, seeping through his already-soaked shirt and spilling down his arm and chest. It wrenched a scream from his throat, but he could barely hear it over the waves and the rain and the sharp crack of thunder overhead.

The knife was pulled out as fast as it was plunged in, and Keith sagged heavily over the pulpit. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenching so tightly they threatened to shatter as he pressed his left hand to the wound.

“Tough luck, kid,” said a voice in front of him. It drew his focus sharply outward, making him snap his eyes open and watch as the Galra woman smirked and turned away, toward where Keith could hear Shiro still fighting.

She only took one step.

Keith lurched and hooked his arm around her, bringing her neck to the crook of his elbow. He leaned heavily to the side, pulling her to bend backward over open air and splutter the barest syllables of words she tried to scream. Keith’s remaining arm had grown numb, leaving it useless as the Galra lost balance.

Within seconds, the both of them tumbled over the side of the ship. The wind howled in Keith’s ears, his arm now empty with the jolt of the fall. Everything was black, but he couldn’t tell if he had his eyes open or not, his stomach lurching at the sensation of falling into nothing. For an instant, something drew taut around his waist, and he remembered the lifeline he never managed to cut. It wrenched him back, pulling him towards the Kerberos again. The rope snapped free, something slammed into the side of his head, and then the world ceased to exist.

*             *             *             *             *

He didn’t have a body in the dark void. It was like the only things that existed were his eyes. He was just floating.

It took a moment, but Keith realized that the void around him wasn’t entirely black. It was a dark, deep blue. The color reminded him of the view of the ocean when he was on the Kerberos, looking out over the water at midday. It was soothing.

 _I must be in the ocean,_ he thought rather idly. Though, this form of an afterlife seemed appropriate for a sailor, especially someone like him. He spent so much time at sea, it was only fitting that he returned to it when he died.

*             *             *             *             *

He only saw the stars for a moment before someone was hovering over him. At first, he couldn’t make out their face, could only focus on the blue eyes that gazed down at him. He was once again reminded of the ocean.

Those eyes seemed to glow the longer he stared at them, and suddenly he felt warm. The heat spread through him like honey, starting in his chest and slowly spreading through his arms and legs. His blood simmered, on the cusp of boiling, the feeling seeping into his bones.

And then the heat thrust its claws through his heart, and the darkness returned.

*             *             *             *             *

“He lost a lot of blood.” The voice drifted through Keith’s ears, registering very slowly. “And he has broken ribs and a concussion. He’s lucky he’s still alive.”

“He’s lucky I found him,” another voice said, sounding distant. “Or maybe he’s not. I haven’t decided what to do with him yet.”

“You’ll let him stay here.” The first voice was back, loud and commanding. “Keith is important.”

The sound of his name made him stir, forcing a noise through his throat to answer.

“Hey.” Something warm touched his shoulder. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be fine.”

He couldn’t answer before passing out again.

*             *             *             *             *

Keith finally woke to a cloth being pressed to his lips. Cool water trickled into his mouth, smooth on his tongue, and he immediately swallowed, feeling it sooth the back of his throat as it went down. Gods, he was thirsty.

His eyes opened when the cloth was gone, and he blinked slowly up at the ceiling.

“Hey.”

Keith turned his head toward the voice, eyes squinting through the sunlight. Someone was sitting on a stool beside him, dunking a wet cloth into a basin. Everything was fuzzy, but he could at the very last make out a pair of glasses and messy, auburn hair…

“Matt?”

He watched the face give a small smile. “Not quite.”

Keith stared for a minute longer, trying to force his brain to work. As he blinked, he realized that this person was younger than Matt—almost like a younger version of him—and the only other possibility clicked (a bit sloppily) in his head: “Katie?”

The smile stretched a little wider. “Hey, Keith. Been a while, huh?”

Keith tried to sit up, pushing blankets away with one hand. As soon as he shifted, the blood rushed from his head, leaving it cold and fuzzy, and the room started to spin.

“Woah, lie down.” Katie put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the pillows. “You’re still recovering, don’t push yourself.”

Keith blinked hard, trying to get the ceiling to stop shaking. “Recovering? Katie, what—where am I?”

“You’re in my cabin.” Katie peered down at him carefully, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

What was the last thing…? The Kerberos. He knows he was on the Kerberos. They were on a mission to harvest Balmeran crystal in the Therysian Sea. They had been out at sea for about a week and then… then…

_“Shiro.”_

He remembered everything in an instant, and suddenly he was pushing himself to sit up again, feet swinging to the floor and itching to run.

“Kei—no! Slow down, you’re just going to hurt yourself!”

Katie grabbed his arms again, trying to push him into bed, but Keith pushed back with what little strength he had.

“No, I have to find Shiro! I need to make sure he’s okay!” Keith’s throat was raw, sore and protesting from raising his voice. But he didn’t care—he _needed_ to get to Shiro.

“Wha—why? What happened to the Kerberos? What about Dad and Matt?!” Katie’s eyes had widened, grip tightening on his arms.

“Shiro! I have to find him! I have—I have to find him, I—!”

Panic flared up to eat at the inside of his chest, pressing heavily against his ribs. It was seeping into his lungs, jabbing at his heart with every beat. He was drowning—his lungs filling with water so fast. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ and he needed to find Shiro! He needed Shiro, he—

 _“Hey!_ Hey, hey, hey, hey! A panic attack is _not_ going to help you recover!” Katie removed her grip from Keith’s arms and grabbed his hands in both of hers. “Uh, okay. Just breathe. Close your eyes and breathe. You’re fine.”

Keith locked eyes with her, terror rushing over him. “Sh-Shiro! Katie, I need to find him—”

“I know, and we will. But we can’t find him if you’re hurt, okay? Now I need you to take a deep breath. We’ll start with just one.”

Keith clenched his jaw hard, but tried to do as she said and breathe, screwing his eyes shut and taking in as much air as he could. It was shaky, but he managed it.

“Good. Now again.”

It felt like it went on for years. Keith tried to breathe, clutching Katie’s hands tightly in his own to ground him to _something._ He remembered Shiro bleeding, Shiro fighting the Galra, the _ship_ being attacked by Galra—but no, no he couldn’t think about that right now. He had to get better so he could make sure he still had a family to find. He shut his brain down. Breathing, just _breathing_ and focusing on the warmth of Katie’s hands. It was something familiar, comforting, and his lungs felt a little less waterlogged, a little lighter.

“There… that’s better.”

Keith felt his muscles slowly uncoil as Katie spoke, his legs trembling with exhaustion. He could breathe, but now he could feel the ache in his body and the soreness in his chest. His head hurt too, making the light still shining through the window hurt his eyes. He had to squint so that it didn’t feel like someone was trying to stab his brain full of needles.

Katie took one of her hands back and pat Keith gently on the shoulder. “Here, why don’t you lie back and I’ll get you some water.”

Wordlessly, Keith nodded and slowly pushed himself back into bed. Katie did her best to help, guiding his head back to the pillows before reaching for a cup by his bedside and filling it with water. She handed it to him, Keith accepting it with a nod, and carefully brought it to his lips. He was suddenly very tired again.

Katie sat back quietly for a moment, watching him. “You okay?”

He swallowed, throat ragged like he had swallowed a bunch of sand. “Could be better… What’s going on, Katie? How did I get here? How did you find me? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Slow down, one question at a time.” She offered him a small smile in humor. “Well, I brought you to my cabin after you were found washed up a few miles up shore. You’re lucky I’ve been doing my research in this island chain, otherwise you wouldn’t have a friendly face to take care of you.”

Keith swallowed a sip of his water, reveling in the way it soothed his aching throat. “Thanks… I’m grateful, Katie, I really am.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I go by ‘Pidge’ now.”

“Pidge…? I thought you hated that name.”

Katie—or Pidge—shrugged, smiling slightly. “Eh. It grew on me.”

“Well. Thank you, Pidge. You saved my life.”

“I certainly played a big part. But I only helped, really.”

That made Keith’s eyebrows furrow, and he instinctively glanced toward the door behind her. “Helped? Is there someone else here?”

Pidge hefted a sigh, her next words grumbled. “Sort of. I’ll introduce you when he gets back. Just rest for now… You hungry? I made soup a few hours ago in case you woke up.”

In all honesty, Keith wasn’t really that hungry. But he knew he needed his strength if he wanted to get better. “I could eat.”

Pidge chuckled, hopping down from her stool. “I bet. Let me get you a bowl.”

Soon enough, she was out the door, leaving Keith with his cup of water and the small twinges of pain he felt throughout his body. Taking a deep breath, he sat back against the wall, finally glancing around at the room K—Pidge had left him in.

There wasn’t a lot, really. The walls and floor were entirely made of wood, left with barely any furnishings. There was the bed he was lying on, the side table next to it, and a trunk in the corner. There was only one window, which was opposite the wall he was using as a headboard. The sunlight coming in was a bright orange, leaving him to wonder if it was early morning or late evening.

Pidge came back not long after with a tray of soup and a slice of bread. She set it across his lap and took his cup, telling him to eat slowly as she sat down. Honestly, Keith couldn’t have eaten fast even if he wanted to. His stomach was sour and in knots, making the food hard to swallow, even if it was just soup. But he made himself eat it, even the bread, and downed another cup of water.

“Good,” Pidge said, taking the tray away. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Keith answered with a shrug. He wouldn’t admit that he felt like there was acid churning in his stomach and his head felt cloudy.

“Well, try and get some rest. I don’t know when Lance will be back, so you might as well sleep until he gets here.”

There was a pause as Keith watched Pidge clean up. “He’s trustworthy right? Not just some stranger you met?”

“Of course he’s trustworthy,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t plan on introducing you if I didn’t trust him. We just… have different opinions on things.”

“Different opinions on what?”

Then, faintly, Keith heard three knocks from the other side of the door. There was a beat of silence, and then a fourth knock followed.

Pidge glanced at the door— “That’s him,”—then turned to Keith. “You okay with seeing him now or did you need sleep first. I don’t blame you if you’re exhausted.”

He _was_ exhausted. But what he was feeling right now didn’t matter. He was restless and he if he had to sit in that bed not making progress at every possible opportunity, he was going to go insane.

Keith shook his head. “I’m fine. Bring him in.”

“If you’re sure,” she muttered, taking his tray out of the room with her.

Keith waited restlessly for her to come back with this stranger who apparently saved his life, picking at a stray thread in the blanket covering him. His brain was itching.

He heard the sound of a lock clicking, and soon there were voices speaking in a volume too low for him to hear. Keith swallowed and grit his teeth impatiently.

And finally, someone pushed the door open.

Pidge walked a few steps into the room, revealing a figure standing behind her.

He was about a foot taller than her, dark hair tousled and apparently damp. He was wearing a white, starch shirt, the buttons all done except for two at the top. On his legs were black pants tucked into worn boots, ones that were well-cared for, and a belt around his waist. He carried no weapon as far as Keith could tell, but he wore a bracelet around his left wrist and a necklace. Both made of seashells.

For a moment, the two studied each other.

Throat still hoarse, Keith did his best to glare at the man standing in the doorway. “Who are you?”

The man stared back, though his face was more neutral. It was silent for a minute, the two just staring at each other. Keith studied the other man’s expression carefully, trying to get a read on him. The act was easily mirrored back, deep blue eyes cutting deep. For reasons that were beyond him, Keith became fixated on those eyes.

Then, there was a twist of a smile, one that lifted the corner of the stranger’s mouth in a wry smirk. “The name’s Lance. And you are?”

Keith hesitated, but after a moment, considered revealing his name to be harmless. Kat—Pidge was there and said she trusted him, so he felt safe to assume nothing dangerous could come of it. “Keith.”

“Well, Keith,” Lance began with a sigh. “I’m the one who rescued you from drowning. Now tell me what your ship was doing in my ocean or else I will throw you back into it.”


End file.
